


Don't Make a Sound...

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [60]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Trying Really Hard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, mention of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Make a Sound...

LX.

Dean plants his hands on his knees and tries to breathe normally. 

He’s got a plan. He’s thought about it for nearly a month now, found the flaws, figured out the fixes, and now all he’s got to do is carry it out.

Just like he would a hunt -- just like any other time he’s had to come up with a strategy to fix something -- just like he would if he needed to figure out how to fix the Impala.

* * *

‘What can I do you for?’ The grey-haired woman smiles at him amiably. He’s sure she’s wearing the same faded old flannel shirt she’d had on the last time he was here and her hands are still stained and grubby like she’s just come in from gardening.

‘I...I need a little help.’ God, no, he doesn’t need help -- he needs a drink. Something to shoot. An escape route. Not in that order. He glances around as if the words he needs are printed on the faded store walls if he can only find them. All he sees is the dim yellow paint of the new moon above the purple _New Moon Rising_ script.

‘Sure.’ Her smile doesn’t shift and she waits.

Living in the same town with Bobby she’s probably used to crazy.

‘I’m trying...I’m trying...See, there’s...I’ve...’ Oh fuck he sounds nuts. He takes a deep breath and starts again. ‘I’m trying to plan...a nice night. For...for someone. And I...I need a couple things.’ Why did he think this was a fucking good idea!

She looks at him for a long minute, then says, ‘Lady friend of yours?’

He swallows. ‘Not really, no.’

‘That dark-haired kid you’re with sometimes.’ Her eyes narrow slightly.

‘Uh...’ He hesitates, not wanting to agree if she’s thinking of Sam.

‘Wears a raincoat all the time.’

‘Yeah.’ He swallows again. ‘Yeah, that’s him.’

She grins at him, unexpectedly, and winks. ‘Cute. Anyway, so what d’you need?’

* * *

So now he’s got what he needs -- what he _thinks_ he might need anyway -- what he _guesses_ he might need because he’s never done this, never done anything _like_ this and, honestly? he has no fucking idea what he might need, what Cas might want.

He glances up at the clock and curses silently. In fifteen minutes or so, Cas’ll be up here and his first question will be--

‘What is all that, Dean?’

Dean closes his eyes and swears.

‘Dean?’

_See, the thing is, Cas, I kinda noticed the other night when--_

* * *

_\--Castiel rolls over against him and Dean wakes up from a doze and realises that Castiel is hard._

_He holds his breath for a second -- but the angel breathes on steadily and shows no sign of moving again. After a moment or two, Dean lets his breath out in a silent sigh. Castiel huffs in his sleep, one hand curving over Dean’s hip, fingers flattening on Dean’s stomach, but makes no other move._

_Dean concentrates on breathing as his nerves start to tingle and he tries to figure out if he’s really terrified or really excited. Slowly, he slides a hand over Castiel’s where it rests on his hip, interlacing their fingers, stroking a line over Castiel’s knuckles with his thumb._

_Castiel takes a deep breath, mumbles something against Dean’s shoulder, and pushes against him slightly, just enough that Dean can feel the pressure against his thigh and the sudden spark of heat in his gut._

* * *

Now, Dean holds himself still on the edge of the bed, hands open flat on his thighs. 

‘Dean? Is something wrong?’ Castiel steps into the room, closes the door behind himself. 

Now that they’re back at Bobby’s -- no hunt looming for the next few days, although Sam’s been making noises about something weird happening up in northern Wisconsin -- the angel has discarded the trenchcoat and tie. He’s even been stealing the occasional t-shirt from Dean. Today, though, he’s back in the familiar dress shirt, but the sleeves rolled up well above his elbows. 

Dean shakes his head slowly. ‘No, nothing’s wrong. I just...’

* * *

_What the fuck now? That’s the first thing he’s really aware of thinking, while Castiel sleeps beside him and he has his own quiet freak-out. _

_They haven’t talked about this -- haven’t talked about any of this on the long drive back from Arizona. They haven’t talked about it, but._

_But Sam doesn’t even ask before he gets them their own room._

_But they’ve been sharing a bed night after night._

_But Dean’s woken up wrapped around Castiel so tightly he’s had problems figuring out whose limbs are whose._

_But he doesn’t have nightmares now._

_But he thinks he’d have a hard time sleeping now without the angel’s quiet, breathing warmth next to him; whether or not Cas is asleep doesn’t matter. He knows perfectly well that nine nights out of ten the angel meditates or cogitates or simply lies there and stares at the ceiling for all Dean knows but that’s okay because he’s there. _

_It’s not that Dean doesn’t remember because he does but..._

_Slowly, carefully, as if the memories might suddenly wake up and bite him, he slides his arm out from under Castiel’s shoulders -- the angel mutters something but doesn’t wake up -- and cautiously traces a fingertip over Castiel’s near hip, following the curve of bone inwards through the cloth of boxers._

_He’s awake now -- so awake he can feel every inch of skin, every place the sheet touches him, every place Castiel’s skin presses against his -- and every place it doesn’t._

_He stops just short, biting the inside of his cheek hard. If he slips his fingers a few inches forward...even through cloth..._

_‘Dean?’ Castiel’s voice is thick with sleep._

_Dean feels a sharp rush of guilt -- inexplicable, but there, as if he has been caught in something shamefully covert. ‘Cas...I...’_

_Castiel’s hand covers his, pressing Dean’s fingers close to his stomach. ‘I was dreaming...’ He pauses for a second and Dean imagines him taking stock of his body, figuring out what’s going on. When Cas speaks again, his voice is hesitant. ‘You...you do not have...’_

_‘But you’re...’ Dean half-shrugs, not wanting to state the obvious when it’s pressing into his thigh. He coughs. ‘I mean...don’t you...want...?’_

_Castiel swallows, the click in his throat clearly audible. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. ‘Very much. But desire is something... This body... I can wait.’_

_‘I don’t want you to.’ Dean says it before he thinks and waits for the rush of panic -- but it doesn’t come. Or, if it does, it’s drowned out by something else. He doesn’t know what to call it and he doesn’t want to think about it too much for fear it’ll just vanish. He twists on his side, turning towards Castiel, dropping their twined hands onto the mattress between them. They’re still touching knee to hip._

_‘I do not understand.’_

_‘Me, neither but... I...’ Dean stops, licks his lips, and tries to make sense of the tangle of words in his head. He can’t -- there’re too many of them and he doesn’t know how to figure out which ones to say first. Instead, he pulls Castiel’s hand downwards, presses both their hands over the waistband of the angel’s boxers._

_‘Dean?’ Castiel’s voice has gone slightly breathy, but the hot press against Dean’s thigh isn’t going away and Castiel isn’t pulling back._

_‘Please? Just...please, Cas?’ That’s not what he meant to say. He meant to say something smooth and sexy and romantic and completely in control of the situation but instead he sounds like a desperate teenager and he really has no idea what the fuck he’s doing._

_Castiel doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move for an achingly long moment -- well past the point when Dean is absolutely convinced that whatever this is, he’s gotten it wrong. Then, very slowly, Castiel twists his hand under Dean’s, interlacing their fingers with his below, his thumb over Dean’s wrist._

_Dean doesn’t mean to stop breathing, but he does as Castiel carefully guides their twined hands under the loose elastic of his boxers and Dean feels rough hair and warm, smooth skin against the side of his hand._

_Dean isn’t hard -- he doesn’t know what it’ll take to get that working again -- but the feel of Castiel’s hand under his and the nearly inaudible gasp Castiel makes when his own fingertips brush against the base of his cock is enough to send a sharp spark of heat through Dean’s belly._

_‘Dean...’ Castiel holds himself still, fingers pressed around Dean’s._

_‘Don’t stop.’_

_Castiel stays still for another minute, then, very slowly, slides their intertwined hands down. Dean feels the other man’s hand move under his, fingers stretching out and palm pressing down. He can hear Castiel’s breathing beside him, feel it on his bare shoulder, actually, and there’s a catch to it. Castiel’s fingers move again, stroking and smoothing and Dean closes his eyes, turning his head slightly to breathe in the scent of bed-warm skin._

_Castiel’s breath hitches again and his hand stops moving._

_After a minute, Dean mutters, ‘What’s wrong?’_

_‘I am...’ Castiel stops and Dean can feel him tensing, a slight shift of shoulders against the pillow._

_‘If you don’t wanna, Cas, I...’ He squeezes his hand over Castiel’s._

_‘No, I do...but I...’_

_‘Don’t worry about me -- I’m just...here for the ride this time.’_

_Castiel’s hand moves again, almost convulsively, and the angel’s hips jerk up, then he stills again._

_‘If...it doesn’t feel good...’ Dean stops himself. Based on what he can feel under his hand and against his leg, it feels good. That’s not the problem. But then what-- ‘Cas. You’ve...you’ve...before, right?’_

_Castiel makes a small sound, somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. ‘I have been quite busy, Dean.’_

_‘Well, yeah, I noticed but...I mean...’ Dean half-shrugs, suddenly awkward. _

_‘I have but...’ Castiel’s hand slides forward and back again and he gasps softly but then stops moving again. _

_‘But?’ Dean prompts._

_‘I was dreaming. I was not expecting--’_

_‘What were you dreaming about?’ Dean shifts position, turning further on his side so he’s pressed against Castiel’s side, propping himself up on one elbow._

_‘You.’ Castiel’s breath catches in his throat again and Dean can feel the vibration in his chest._

_‘What about me?’ Dean lets his hand relax on top of Castiel’s, not pushing, not suggesting._

_‘You were...happy.’_

_‘That’s what got you all excited? Shit, Cas, buy me a beer and you’ll probably come in your pants.’_

_Castiel laughs, a small, uncertain sound, and his hand shifts under Dean’s. ‘I...Dean. Are you...’_

_‘’m askin’.’_

_Castiel is silent for another long minute, then he moves, curling against Dean and winding their fingers together. Dean bites the inside of his lip hard but can’t keep himself from letting out something very like a moan when his fingertips brush over hot, slightly damp skin. Castiel’s thumb traces wet lines over the back of his hand and Dean closes his eyes again, burying his face against Castiel’s shoulder._

* * *

Castiel looks at the array of things spread out on the bedside table and turns back to Dean. ‘What is all this?’

‘Well, I thought... see... See, here’s the thing, Cas.’ Dean can’t look up at him, so he keeps his eyes fixed on a crack in the floor a few inches in front of his own toes. ‘I thought...after...that night. Y’know. What happened. Maybe...’f it wasn’t something I...then maybe I could...and...’ He stops, clears his throat, tries again. ‘I really...I really....wanted...’

Castiel is suddenly in his field of vision, kneeling in front of him, hands on his knees. The angel looks sober, slightly confused. ‘What are these things for, Dean?’

Dean takes a deep breath, tries to think of nice, simple words. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘All right.’

‘And...I think...I’d like to...I want to...try something I don’t remember.’ And that may officially be the dumbest thing he’s ever said. 

‘I...do not understand what you mean.’

Dean closes his eyes. ‘I...can remember all sorts of things. From the pit. And...I can’t...do those. Not yet. Not now.’ He cracks open an eye and Castiel is nodding slowly, watching him. He closes his eye again and goes on. ‘I want to. Some of ‘em. But... I can’t. Just...can’t do it yet.’ He tastes bitterness in the back of his throat and swallows hard. Even here, even to Cas, he _hates_ admitting this, saying there’s something he can’t do, something he can’t _make_ himself do when he fucking _wants_ to do it. ‘But...I’ve thought about it and...I don’t remember...’ Fuck, he can’t say it. He can’t make himself say something this stupid. It’s like being fourteen again. 

‘Whatever you want, Dean. I--’

‘No, _listen_.’ He clenches his hand shut on his knees. ‘I have a _plan_.’

Castiel is silent.

‘See, I don’t remember... I can’t remember... I don’t think I -- they -- See, I’d really like to get you off.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "FMLYHM," Seether, _Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces._


End file.
